


Infinite

by Blue_Iris



Category: BioShock Infinite, Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, But a lot of me really isn't, Crossover, Everyone Being Awesome, F/M, Fandom Fusion, Gen, I'm somewhat sorry, Mythology Gags, Psychological Trauma, Video Game/TV show fusion, Violence, Women Being Awesome, me having fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:11:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Iris/pseuds/Blue_Iris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt.” That was the deal. The details elude me now—but the details wouldn't change a gorram thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infinite

_“Mal, are you afraid of God?”_

_“No. But I’m afraid of you.”_

* * *

 

I’ve never been much of a fan of rain. I’m not a fan of water in general, really; never have been. I’m not sure why these two have decided to give me a ride on such a miserable day, but I won’t question it. If there’s one lesson of my Ma’s that’s stuck, it’s that you don’t bite the hand(s) that feed you—or in this case, give you a job that can fix up everything.

“Are you just going to sit there?” He asks.

The lady in the yellow raincoat laughs. “Well, geez, I’m certainly not goin’ to stand.”

The man, in his own yellow raincoat, sighs. “I wasn’t saying that you should stand—but you should certainly be rowing.”

She shrugs. “Wasn’t really plannin’ on it. Besides, you seem to be doing a good job.”

“So, I’m to shoulder the burden, am I?”

“Of course not! I’m just askin’ that you row us there.”

She pauses in her conversation to turn around and hand me a wooden case, one that I had used for Wounded Knee. With a hint of a smile showing from under her hat—one that looks like it’s supposed to be reassuring, comforting—she nods and turns back to her partner, leaving me to inspect the contents inside. A loaded pistol; coordinates to New York; a picture of a scroll, sword, and key; and a picture of a young girl in a white dress, the girl I’ve been assigned to retrieve for these people, whoever they are.

 _“Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt.”_ That was the deal. Sounds simple enough.

The man scoffs. “If anyone should be doing all the rowing, it’s you.”

“How do you figure?”

“Coming here was your idea.”

“My idea?”

“I’ve made it very clear on how I feel about the exercise.”

“The rowin’? I figured that was wonderful exercise,” she replies, sounding somewhat petulant.

“It is. But that’s not what I mean.”

“Well, then what—”

He looks up at her, revealing sharp but rather cold blue eyes from under his hat. “The entire thought experiment.”

What the hell are they talking about? “Hey, are we there yet or what?”

They ignore me, as they have ever since I got on this damn boat. It’s like these two are in their own little world, and the rest of us are just there. I don’t like it.

“Oh. Oh, sweetie, we’ve been through this.” She clicks her teeth and shakes her head, as if admonishing a child. “One goes into an experiment knowing one can fail.”

A dark eyebrow rises, blue eyes still steady. “One does not undertake an experiment knowing one has failed.”

I shake my head. Whatever they’re talkin’ about probably doesn’t matter. Just in case though, I should tuck this gun into my holster. Being out in the middle of the ocean with these two just doesn’t exactly give me that warm, fuzzy feeling inside. In my experience, many men have been taken to such secluded places, and they aren’t seen again until they’re on a slab in the morgue.

“Can we just get back to the rowin’?” The woman says, with some bite in her voice.

“Well, I suppose I should,” he retorts, “otherwise we’re never going to get there.”

“No, I mean, it’s wonderful that you’re assistin’.”

“Well, I think it’d be better if he assisted.” Oh, now I’m noticed? Huh. “He has a better interest in getting there than I do, after all.”

“Maybe so, but there’s no point in askin’.”

“Why?”

She hisses, “Because he doesn’t row!”

“Doesn’t row?”

“No, he doesn’t _row_.”

“Ah, yes, I see what you mean.”

Well, I don’t. I fuckin’ hate people who just talk in circles. Why can’t these two just be straight with me? Maybe they can even tell me where I’m going, the fucking creeps. I haven’t even gotten close to retrieving this little girl, and I’m already feeling dread.

Just as I’m about to (snap) ask that question, however, a wooden dock seems to rise out from the fog ahead, a dock that leads to what looks like a lighthouse. The boat pauses in front of it.

“We’re here!” The lady exclaims, her cheer being clear in her Southern twang.

Finally.

I turn to look at the ladder, seeing that though the wood is old and maybe a little rotten (and possibly having gotten softer with the storm), it looks somewhat sturdy. I glance at the woman again and see that smile of hers. I like that smile, though I can’t say that I like her much. There’s something warm about it, something familiar. I have a feeling that she can light up even the darkest room with that smile.

Feeling a bit more confident, I step onto the ladder and climb up to the dock. As I turn around, I see that the man is starting to row the boat away, as well as bicker with the woman.

“Shall we tell him when we will be returning?”

“Will that change anythin’?”

“Might give him some comfort.”

“Finally, somethin’ we can agree on,” the woman laughs a little.

Ah, crap. “Hey, am I supposed to be meeting someone here?” I ask before they get too far away.

“I certainly hope so,” the woman quips.

“It does look like a terrible place to be stranded,” the man adds.

I want to ask more questions, but they are already too far away—which is more than a bit of a relief, really. The lady seems nice, and the man has been okay so far, but overall those two are creepy as all fuck. Besides, they probably wouldn’t have answered my questions anyway.

Shrugging, I look up at the lighthouse. It’s tall and white, doesn’t really look anything special. From my understanding, I’m supposed to get transported to this “Columbia” from here…somehow. Maybe there’s someone inside who’s supposed to take me?

Eh, I’ll figure it out.

Wanting to get out of the rain, I quickly dash towards the lighthouse, and then up the stairs. On the doors, I see a bloodstained note reminding me of the deal, telling me that it’s my last chance blah, blah, blah—I don’t really care for it. I knock on the door a few times.

“There anyone in there? It’s Malcolm Reynolds.” No answer. Guess I’ll just let myself in. “C’mon, I know you people are expecting me—”

Okay, so there’s no one at the other side of the door. Nothing except some barrels, the faint sound of music (seems like this job’s motif will be religion; _wonderful_ ), and a dresser with a basin on it.

Above it is a knitted message: “Of thy sins, I shall wash thee.”

People actually talk like that still? Ha-ha. The religious context is bad enough.

Still, because I’m a good sport, I give the message a mock salute and a wink. “Good luck with that.”

Since there’s not much for me to do here, guess I have to go up. The music sounds like it’s coming from up there. There’s gotta be someone listening to it. And, really, what sort of mook would leave a lighthouse unattended?

“Hello? Is there someone here?” I call as I get to the second landing. Still no answer. Odd—

Is that money? And _food_?

Well, when opportunity calls (especially when there’s no one around to stop me, heh-heh).

Hey, what’s that map over there? It’s the U.S.; and there seems to be a pattern of some sort, from state to state. Is this supposed to be a route or something? Like a train map?

And that note: “Be prepared. He’s on his way. You must stop him.”—C.

…Huh.

Probably doesn’t mean anything.

Let’s try the third floor. There’s a mattress and sink here, along with a stove and all those essentials, so clearly _someone_ lives in this lighthouse. Maybe there’ll even be more money up there. More food would also be (wonderful) nice.

You know, maybe I was a little too judgmental about this before, this job is pretty damn good. Sure, there are some creepy religious knitted messages, the lighthouse might be deserted, and it’s still raining like a bitch outside. But hey, so far there’s been free food and money that no one has tried to arrest me for, and no one has tried to kill me. And trust me, when you’re me and have lived the life I have, this is definitely a good sign of things to come—is that blood?

A blood _trail_?

A blood trail to a—?

“Shit,” I can’t help but hiss, feeling my guts twist a little. It certainly hasn’t been the first time I’ve seen a dead body, especially one tied to a chair. A lot of the time, I’m the one who is doing the killin’, especially when it comes to suspects. (I’m not necessarily proud…but that’s the life of a Pinkerton, you know.) But seeing that note on the corpse’s lap—“DON’T DISAPPOINT US”—is just a little too foreboding for my taste.

Who am I working for?

Well, it’s too late to turn back now, at least with my head attached to my neck. At least I know that the lighthouse is deserted. Now I can focus on the job at hand.

I quickly walk up the steps until I hit the top floor, leading to the chamber holding the light. At the entrance to it are three bronze bells with images carved into them: a scroll, a key, and a sword. I take out the card that the lady gave me, the one with those same images, and I finally take a closer look at it; there are numbers next to each image.

I ring the scroll, once; the key, twice; and then the sword, twice. Then I wait.

And…nothing. Huh. What the hell am I supposed to—?

I nearly jump at the sound. A horn thunders the air a few times, and the sky lights up with red. A few seconds later, the lighthouse answers with a lower hum and the huge light blinking red; the sky then answers with more thundering hums.

A bell rings inside the lighthouse and suddenly wheels start to turn. Soon, the huge light starts to rise off the floor and close to the ceiling, allowing a fancy looking red chair to rise in its place. The door with the bells rise and give way, allowing me to enter the chamber.

 _Huh._ Well. That’s…not odd at all.

Okay, you’ve probably noticed by now, but I’m not stupid. I know those people want me to sit in their fancy chair and do…whatever they want me to do. I know this. I’m just really not a fan of sitting in chairs I don’t know that well. Call me crazy, but something tells me that nothing good will come of it.

Then again, if I turn back now, I will end up being as dead as that poor stiff down there.

What was that about this job starting off good?

…

Well, nothing ventured, right?

I sit in the chair slowly, not sure what’s going to happen. After a few seconds of bracing myself, nothing seems to happen. Now what—?

 _Damn it!_ I immediately start struggling against the shackles that have wrapped around my wrists. As I do, walls rise up and curl above me into an ovular shape. What the hell?

“Make yourself ready, pilgrim,” a voice says, in a way that is too calm. “The bindings are there as a safeguard.”

“Oh, like hell they are!” I yell, though she probably doesn’t hear me. “Get these off of me!”

The walls close around me, fusing together. In front of me is a circular window, like a porthole of a boat. The platform under me turned downward, putting me face to face with these odd things spitting out fire. Is this supposed to be a rocket? Like the kind in a Jules Verne book? Ha, are we really—?

No, _gun_! Come back! I have a feeling I’ll need you later—shit.

Yeah, I’m officially fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I played Bioshock Infinite a few months ago.
> 
> Just recently, I've started watching Firefly. While watching "Shindig", my brother made an offhand comment about how Mal had a slight resemblance to Booker.
> 
> Next thing I know, I'm waking up early and going on my laptop this morning--and then this happened.
> 
> I won't promise that it will be perfect. Not everyone is in the roles they probably should be in. But as they say, one goes into an experiment knowing one could fail.


End file.
